


Many Happy Returns

by t_fic (topaz), topaz, topaz119 (topaz)



Series: Something So Right [2]
Category: Backstreet Boys, NSYNC
Genre: Established Relationship, Fisting, M/M, implied polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-28
Updated: 2006-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-02 06:15:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/pseuds/t_fic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/pseuds/topaz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/pseuds/topaz119
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...they say the best presents are the ones you don't even know you want...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Many Happy Returns

**january 2005**

Nick could definitely get used to the way Lance and Jesse do the birthday thing. Nothing left to chance, from the ruthlessly controlled guest list at the party--so Jesse can spend the night draped over Nick--to a literal tower of presents.

Nick looks over at JC as JC backs out of the driveway. "Thanks, again," he says, reaching behind him to touch the smooth leather of the guitar case. He's being a total dork, but the instrument inside is seriously a piece of art, custom-made, inlay on the fretwork and neck, and a perfect tone, one he knows JC had to have been listening for.

"You're welcome. Again," JC says, and Nick can feel the smirk under JC’s straight face.

He could seriously fuck with JC if he wanted to. JC's been keyed up all night, just enough for Nick to notice, and now that they're alone in the car, Nick can almost see the energy coming off him.

But he doesn't really want to. He's buzzed and mellow, JC's got the top down on the Benz, and the night air is pure LA: soft and only a bit cool, even in January.

"You and Jess, all the way to New Mexico?" Nick says, and maybe he does want to fuck with JC. Just a little. "All alone? Nobody to run interference?"

"Lance couldn't get away," JC answers, turning onto the canyon road, his voice dry and amused. "And we figured dragging you along while we picked out your present kind of defeated the purpose."

Nick grins. "I wouldn't have had to wait then."

JC snorts, but then adds, unexpectedly, "It was good. Going down there with him."

"Yeah," Nick says. "He told me that, too."

"Did he also tell you I told him this was the one twenty minutes into the afternoon, but he wouldn't believe me until we'd heard them all?"

"Nah," Nick laughs. "He must have forgot that part."

"I'm sure," JC says, and that's enough fucking around for Nick. The rest of the trip is filled with the mix Howie put together, water music, for when they're stuck on a bus and landlocked.

When they get to JC’s, JC takes his hand; leads him straight upstairs, and Nick's about to make a crack about being a cheap date, but JC's kissing him and there's not enough air to do both.

***

Nick’s kind of pissed when they get to the bedroom and JC stops touching him, but he can’t help grinning when JC hands him a small, wrapped package. "Another? C'mon, it's only a birthday," he says, but he doesn't bother trying to sound chill while he's ripping at the paper and muttering curses because JC’s taped the box shut.

Finally though, he gets it open, and his mouth goes dry at the two small, silvery hoops lying on a swatch of dark blue velvet.

"They're for when we're going to be together," JC says, his voice intimate, intense. "Only wear them then, when it's just going to be you and me."

Nick nods blindly, caught up in the vision of getting ready to be with JC, of how it's going to feel wearing these under his shirt and _knowing_. He looks up to see JC thinking the same thing and meets him in a kiss that starts off hard and turns savage within seconds.

Nick always forgets how really fucking strong JC is, how easy JC makes it to underestimate him physically until they're like this and JC matches him strength for strength. It's not even a struggle; JC's just right there with him, reminding him that it's okay to let it all go if that's what he wants, that JC's got him covered.

JC has Nick's shirt off before they come up for air; Nick's pretty sure he felt more than one button break rather than slide through the buttonhole. It’ll all even out in the end; he knows he's already left bruises where he's grabbed JC's hips and ass.

Nick can't get enough oxygen, even after JC’s mouth leaves his, moving over his skin in a mix of kisses and sharp, quick nips that leave Nick's ears and neck and jaw stinging. He'd fucking hate losing control like this if it wasn't so clear that JC loves holding onto it for him.

JC's growling, too, low and feral. It flares from Nick's ears to his cock, makes him greedy for more. When JC tells him to strip, he's got his t-shirt off before he really even processes the words. His jeans take a little more time, but once they’re shoved down and out of the way, _God_, he can't help touching himself. One quick stroke, and down to cup his balls, and he's coming back for a second round when JC slaps his hand away.

"Shit," Nick hisses, as much from the frustration as from the part of the slap that missed his hand and landed on his cock.

JC's got Nick’s wrist in a light grip that Nick knows will turn bruising the instant he pulls against it, and in JC’s other hand are the rings. Nick's reaching for them before JC says a word.

"Show me," JC says. "I want to watch you tonight and then I'll know, I'll see it in my head; when you call and tell me you're ready, I'll know how you looked when you were doing it."

Nick's not sure he can stop his hands from shaking long enough to actually get the rings in. When JC licks across his shoulder, along the curve of the wave, the way he always does, the words tumble out of Nick's mouth. "Fuck, please, don't. I can't do this if I know you're there, and, God, I want to, I want to know you know." He needs to shut up before he says something he can't take back, because there's letting go and then there's spilling his guts and admitting to needing something he’s never admitted to before.

JC cups his jaw and kisses him long and slow. Nick drinks it in, pulls the strength and calm he always seems to find from JC, steadies himself until he can make his hands work, and then it doesn't matter that he's shaking again, or that he's so hard he feels like one touch will break him. He doesn't have to do anything but turn away from the mirror and show JC that he's ready for him.

JC reaches out—Nick sees a small tremor in his hand, too, and closes his eyes against the excitement that calls—and traces very gently around one ring. He's only touching metal, but Nick feels it arc through him like an electric current.

"Nick," JC whispers, but Nick hears so much more, so much that makes him want more, _now_. JC still isn't touching him, and he's not sure how much more he can take, but JC's already warned him off once. He doesn't know why it's so important to him to do what JC says, but it is, it's _vital_, so he stands there, hands digging into his thighs, and takes what JC wants to give him.

JC fingers the rings, one after the other, so softly Nick has to concentrate to feel anything. The tiny movements of metal against skin and nerves make him whimper, make him beg. He should be ashamed of the noises coming out of his mouth, and in the morning he will be, but now, now JC is answering him, murmuring encouragement, and Nick doesn't care.

"Yeah," JC says, when Nick arches into the maddening tease. "That's it, Nicky. Show me you want it, tell me what you'll do for it."

Nick never imagined he'd be like this for anyone, but when it's JC, when it's like this, he can't stop himself. "Anything," he chokes out. "Just, please, fuck, _touch_ me."

"Oh, I will, baby," JC promises. "I'll touch you and taste you and fuck you and own you. All night," he says, but he's still not _touching_, and Nick can feel the bruises he's leaving on his own legs, can taste the blood in his mouth where he's bitten through his lip to stop his mouth from betraying him more than it already has.

"Look at me," JC says, and Nick forces his eyes open. "Can you come for me like this?" JC asks, and finally, finally brushes his fingers over Nick's skin, skims them lightly across the very top of his nipples.

"More," Nick groans. "Jesus, please."

"Like this?" JC tugs sharp and hard. Nick winces against the fire racing through him, and JC catches the rings again, twisting, pulling, until Nick's on his toes, trying to ease the tension. "Eyes. Open," JC says, and when Nick looks at him through a blur of shock and lust, there's nothing indulgent in his expression. "Can you come for me like this?" he repeats.

Nick groans, "Fuckfuck, I don't know, Jesus, C, please."

"Please, what?" JC says, soft and silky. "Stop? More?" He pulls again, and Nick can't stop the half-scream that rips out of his throat. There are tears on his face, but he doesn't move his hands and he doesn't ask for anything.

JC lets him go, but he's there watching, watching, as Nick tries to gets his shit together. If Nick thinks about what he's doing, letting someone see him like this, he'll turn and run. Down deep, he knows he’s given JC pretty much everything and there won’t be anything left of him if JC decides that it’s not enough or that he doesn’t want Nick anymore.

But Nick's here and he’s staying because, scary as it is, he's pretty sure, surer than he's ever been before, that he’s got the same thing from JC. Plus, no matter how strung out JC makes him, all Nick has to do is open his eyes and there’s an endless strength waiting for him, looking back at him, strength and want and an answering need. Nick’s been wanted by thousands--millions--of people, from the time he was too young to begin to understand, but this is the first time someone has ever ever _ever_ wanted him so cleanly and freely.

JC waits until Nick's breathing evens out and the shakes are mostly under control before saying, "They say the best present is something you don't even know you want."

Nick shakes his head a little. "I'm--I don't need, you’ve already--"

"This night isn't quite that," JC says, talking right over him. "Because there is something you want, and you know you want it." His voice is low and rough, sinking into Nick and tangling him in its net. "You just can't ask for it."

There are a lot of things Nick can't ask for, even now, after being with Jesse and Lance--and JC--and starting to figure out that he's allowed to have things he wants and needs, things that he'd never thought were for him. But that's not what JC is talking about.

JC knows him. He watches Nick, pays attention to him like no one ever has, and he never forgets anything. Jesse and Lance know him, too, but JC is the only one Nick's ever shown himself to like this, the only person Nick's ever allowed to get this close. There's only one thing Nick's never really let himself admit that he wants, and he wonders how long JC's known, how long he's been waiting for Nick to ask for it.

JC's eyes are dark and calm when Nick finally makes himself look up. He steps close to Nick and his hands are everywhere, smoothing down Nick's back, tracing over his hips, pulling him closer still. "You don't have to ask," he murmurs in Nick's ear, right before he takes the lobe between his teeth and tugs gently.

It's okay, Nick thinks. With JC's hands anchoring him, and JC’s mouth moving slowly over the throat Nick's bared for him, he can ask. "Please," he says. "Please."

JC hums against Nick's throat, soft vibrations that ripple down Nick's body. He backs Nick slowly across the room, until Nick feels the mattress against his legs. He should move back and get on the bed, he thinks vaguely, but JC's kissing his mouth now, deep, endless kisses that make Nick ache with something that's so much more than wanting.

JC never lets him go. Nick's not clear on how they make it onto the bed, only knows that when he starts to roll over, JC stops him, settling Nick on his back, hands holding Nick's hips hard against the mattress.

"No," he says. "Like this." He doesn't have to say, _So I can see you_, for Nick's brain to fill it in. Nick says that all the time, especially to Jesse; he can't get enough of watching Jesse while he fucks him.

That's not the way he and JC are, though. When they fuck, when JC fucks Nick, Nick loves to get on his hands and knees for it, loves to take it from behind, whether it's fast and rough or slow and deep. Nick's never had to ask for that, either; like everything else, JC watches and watches and knows how Nick wants it.

Nick's breath’s coming in sharp ragged pants at the idea of JC being able to see his face while this happens--Nick stops and makes himself say the words, in his head at least--and admits that just thinking that JC is going to be able to see everything is scaring him almost as much as it's turning him on.

What's even scarier is that he knows JC only takes him places JC knows he wants to go.

Nick can't let himself think about that; he'll never make it through if he does. He concentrates on JC's hands on his hips and makes himself breathe slow and steady, sighing softly as the first finger, cool and slick with lube, slides into him.

It's slow and easy and Nick feels himself drift into it. "Yeah," JC murmurs. "That's it, just let it go." It's strange, Nick thinks, how _not_ strange that idea is becoming. He still doesn't _do_ it, of course--or, at least, not or more than a few seconds, but the idea of letting go doesn’t seem quite as impossible as he's always thought.

JC presses in with a second finger, still keeping that same lazy pace, and Nick stays with it. He opens his eyes and watches JC, and doesn't think about anything but the way JC's moving inside him and how he can feel that touch bubbling out into his blood and spreading through the rest of his body.

JC hums, low and encouraging, saying, "No rush, man, no rush. Just this." He twists his fingers, then scissors them, opening Nick up to him. Nick's eyes slide closed as he groans at the added stretch, the not-quite-burn. JC definitely isn't rushing. Every slip of his fingers is deliberate, calculated, calling Nick further and further into the pleasure.

Nick follows, step by step, because JC is making it so easy for him. Whenever Nick opens his eyes, JC is there, calm and focused, focused on _him_ &gt;, and Nick isn't surprised to find that JC was right. Nick does want JC to be able to see him, wants to know JC can see everything. It makes him feel safe, lets him relax, even when JC adds a third finger and the burn shudders through him.

Now Nick wants--_needs_\--more, needs to feel JC deeper inside. He shifts his hips, arches up into the pressure, gasping, "_God_, C," as JC moves in counterpoint. The pace isn't lazy anymore; JC is twisting his fingers, quick and nasty, on each stroke and Nick sees bright dazzling colors behind his closed eyes every time.

Nick likes this--loves it, loves the edge he gets with three, loves how JC will push him fast and hard. With one or two fingers, it's a tease; with three, Nick's getting fucked in the best possible way. JC knows; he plays with Nick and plays with him--for seconds, for minutes, for hours, Nick's never going to be sure; plays with him until Nick's thighs tremble from the exertion and every breath is a whimper, fucks him with rough, sure strokes, takes him and uses him. Nick fumbles blindly for the headboard, anchoring himself on the bed so he won't end up floating away from the dizzying rush.

Nick opens his eyes when JC's fingers slide out of him. He watches JC reach for the lube; holds tight to the headboard and locks his eyes with JC's; keeps them there, open, as JC leans back toward him, and _this_ is more, this is almost too much. They've been here before, Nick's taken four fingers from JC, but now, this time, knowing they're not stopping here, that as much as this is, and it's so fucking much Nick can barely manage to breathe, as close as this is to pushing him over the edge, there's more to come--that awareness flashes through him, sparking from nerve to nerve with every heartbeat.

Nick can't move now, can only lie back and sob for breath as JC edges his hand in deep, curving his fingers, flexing them wide. Nick’s eyes are closed again and the blood is pounding in his ears, so loud he’d swear he couldn't hear anything else, but then JC starts talking and Nick will hear his words forever.

"So beautiful, Nick," JC’s saying, and Nick shudders, hearing his name spoken with such passion. "So gorgeous, spread out for me, open to me."

Nick shakes his head helplessly, because he's _not_. Beautiful is Lance, Jesse. JC is the gorgeous one. Nick's not really open to JC, not in any way but physically. He was wrong before; he can't find the courage to stop hiding, to let JC see everything. But JC isn't watching him. He can't be, because he doesn't stop. The words keep coming no matter what Nick does, until finally Nick forces his eyes open to tell JC, beg him if he has to, to stop, that Nick's not anything JC's saying.

JC's right there, like always, but as soon as Nick starts to talk, JC leans down and covers Nick's mouth with his own, and the words die on Nick's tongue.

JC takes Nick with his kiss, tongue fucking in slow and sweet, and Nick moans low in his throat. JC pushes in deeper, swallowing the cry that Nick can't hold back, ; rocks his hand in and in and in, and God, there's more, and there's no way Nick can imagine taking more than this, and he knows he will.

It's more than one kiss, it has to be, but Nick can't remember where one ends and the next begins, not until JC eases his hand out of Nick’s body. That kiss, Nick knows when it ends, and knows when the next one begins. He lets go of the headboard to reach for JC, threading his fingers through JC's hair, holding on to him in sudden fear. JC stills, breath warm and soft on Nick's skin, murmurs Nick's name before kissing him again, slower now, letting Nick kiss him back, until Nick has what he needs, can say against JC's mouth, "Yeah, now, I want it, want _you_."

JC’s kiss roughens, claiming Nick purposefully, and then his mouth is gone and his fingers are back, sliding in faster and harder than Nick expects, and it's just the thumb, just one more than he's ever taken before, it shouldn't be all that much different, but it is, _fuck_, it is. Nick can hear himself moaning, whimpering, and it scares him; he's never sounded like this, he's never let anyone hear this much of himself.

JC's voice is low, rich, almost a song, as he says, "So good, Nicky, so good, give it up, give it to me," and oh, _Christ_, Nick thinks, or maybe says, because he can't tell the difference now. He must not have really expected this to happen; he doesn't know what to do, how to react, but then, _God_\--and he knows he says that, he can feel his voice go--JC's pushing, and Nick's helpless as the wide band of knuckles stretches him, spreads him, opens him. JC rocks deeper, deeper, and Nick's moving with him because he wants more, wants it and needs it, and knows so perfectly that he can reach out and take it, that JC is there to give him everything he wants.

And JC does, more and more and more, so much crashing down on Nick that he's lost in it, lost and so close to panic and the only thing that's keeping him from screaming for it to stop is JC telling him to breathe, to go with it, telling him that JC has him.

Nick knows that, has known it for a long time, but now he _knows_ it and he lets go of everything but that voice, gives up that last little bit, gives everything over. He lets himself be swept up in the pleasure, in the thrill, in the fear, in the wild aching need, throws himself headlong into everything, not afraid when he feels himself come apart because JC is there to keep him together.

***

There are days, JC thinks, when he's too fucking smart for his own good. He'd planned everything so carefully. He'd taken Nick back to his own house, because Nick's LA house is like a college dorm, and JC hadn't wanted that atmosphere. He'd made sure the master bedroom was clear of the clutter that tends to pile up when he’s splitting his time between his place and Lance's. He'd had his favorite catering service deliver enough food to feed a small army, in case Nick got hungry, so they wouldn't have to call out for pizza. He'd spent a considerable amount of time deciding which bottles to move into the small wine refrigerator in his kitchen--which was when he acknowledged exactly how ridiculous he was being, because Nick doesn't ever drink anything but beer if he has the choice.

Oh, yeah, he sneers to himself, he'd thought of everything, except he hadn't once considered what it was going to feel like watching Nick sleep.

The sun's up now, shutters throwing bright stripes of light on the floor, and JC doesn’t think he slept more than an hour all night. First he stayed awake to make sure Nick was settled, and then his brain kept replaying the loop of Nick spread out on his bed, moving mindlessly on JC's fist, fragments of words spilling raw and ragged out of his mouth, until the only thing understandable was JC's name over and over and over.

Now, JC's awake because his very active brain keeps presenting him with a kaleidoscope of worst-case scenarios of how the morning could progress. Nick had been completely out of it afterwards, falling asleep almost immediately, and JC doesn't doubt that Nick enjoyed what they did, but he's not at all sure how Nick's going to react to things in the bright light of day.

To be honest, he's not sure how _he's_ going to react once he's looking into Nick's eyes. He's done some presumptuous things in his life, but this might take the cake. This was going to happen between him and Nick at some point; he’s certain of that, but if he hadn't pushed it, they could have talked about it some, not jumped from “Hey, man, happy birthday,” straight to fisting. His only excuse, and it's weak as shit, is that Nick sets off something inside him, something no one else has ever quite ignited, and he went with his gut.

Part of him thinks Nick might be more comfortable with a little privacy when he wakes up, but he's acutely aware of how easy that makes it on him and he can't tell if he wouldn't just be a convenient excuse for acting like a coward.

Another part of him wants to fit himself into the curve of Nick's body, curl close until he can feel Nick's breath on the back of his neck, feel Nick’s heart beat strong and solid against his own body. He'd gladly go with that, except he can very easily picture how badly it would turn out if Nick wakes up and needs some distance.

In the end, he compromises. Half-cowardly, half-thoughtful, he thinks as he shakes Nick's shoulder. When Nick groans at him, he says, "I'm going to make breakfast, you sleep more." Nick growls and pulls a pillow over his head, but JC knows he'll remember the conversation when he wakes up. It's enough to shut up the still-grumbling part of his brain and let him escape to a shower.

Coffee's what he really needs, though, so he ditches the shower after just a few minutes and pads downstairs, the bamboo floor cool against his bare feet. His kitchen is bright and sunny and relentlessly quiet, and he finds himself in front of the washer and dryer, folding towels, to have something to do with his hands while the coffee brews.

"You're gonna make somebody a pretty little wife someday," a hoarse, raspy voice says. JC spins around to see Nick leaning on the doorframe, wearing basketball shorts and one of the old cut-up T-shirts he leaves at JC's so Jesse won't throw them out, drinking chocolate milk straight from the carton.

"You shouldn't be drinking that," JC says automatically. And stupidly, he thinks, but his mouth keeps right on talking. "You have to be in the studio tomorrow."

Nick shrugs and grins as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "My voice is shot to hell already. Brian can only kill me once, so I might as well get my kicks while I can."

"I have this tea; I'll make you some. It's great for stressed vocal cords..." JC starts to slide past Nick on his way to the stove, but Nick reaches out and stops him. For a split second, JC is sure Nick's going to call him out over everything that’s gone down between them.

"Jesus, you're such a freak," Nick says, and while there's nothing but laughter in his voice, JC can see the hesitation in his eyes. JC holds himself still, consciously wills his muscles to relax, and finds it easier than he expected. Nick's hand wraps around his wrist easily, warm and alive; JC feels the need in it and that's steadying, enough to push him out of his uncertainty.

"What did you call me?" JC asks. "Before the freak part."

"Pretty. Little. Wife," Nick breathes, pulling him close.

"Who," JC answers, just as softly, "are you calling little?" It's lame and cheesy, but Nick still smiles. JC leans into the lazy, deliberate kiss and the slide of hands up his back.

Making out in the kitchen shouldn't be so hot, JC thinks, slow heat uncurling low in his belly. It should be routine by now, but then, he and Nick haven't really ever done things the way they're supposed to. He shivers at the soft scrape of stubble against his skin and lets Nick walk them across the kitchen until he can hitch one hip onto the island in the center.

"Yeah," he gasps as Nick bites down hard on his bottom lip. "Shit, yeah, Nick."

The kisses aren't quite so lazy now; as Nick works his way along the curve of JC’s jaw, JC thinks of all the times they've fucked in the kitchen, one or the other of them spread out on the cold smooth granite. When it's his turn, JC likes to lie back and wrap his legs around Nick, watch Nick's eyes when he first pushes inside JC; to reach out and tease whatever Nick's wearing in his piercings until he can feel the shudders Nick tries to hold back.

"I owe you one for last night," Nick says, hoarse and rough, holding JC pinned against the counter, mouth moving down JC's neck.

"You," JC starts, then groans as Nick scrapes his teeth over his collarbone. "Fuck, _fuck_," he pants, before pulling himself together long enough to slide his hands into Nick's hair, tightening his grip until Nick looks at him. "You don't owe me anything," he says, the pure exhilaration of watching Nick take his fist still singing through his veins.

Nick opens his mouth--to argue the point, JC knows as surely as he knows his own name. He gives Nick's head a shake. "Don't start, man. I'm not too proud to sic Jess on you, and we both know who he'll agree with."

Nick looks at him for a long, long time before he finally shrugs and relaxes. "Yeah, okay, whatever." He leans down and kisses JC again, back to the slow, teasing press of lips and teeth and tongue. "Are we gonna fuck, or what?"

"Or what," JC answers, between kisses, and Nick's soft chuff of laughter is a prize he's happy to have earned. "Better question: where?" He expects to be lifted onto the counter, or turned around and pushed down onto it, but Nick mmms softly, dragging his thumb along JC’s zipper, sweet, aching pressure that's exactly too hard to be pure pleasure. JC's hands dig into Nick's shoulders, holding on tight as Nick does it again and again.

"Bed," Nick says, finally, scrubbing hard with the heel of his hand, hard enough that JC sees pops and flashes. "It's my birthday--or close enough, anyway--I wanna lay back and watch you fuck yourself on my dick."

"Yeah." JC arches into the touch with a soft growl. "Yeah, I can do that."

Nick's not in a hurry; he won't let JC be either, and for once, JC doesn't have to fight against himself to go with it. Nick strips them slowly, scatters clothing in hallways and on steps. The bed is rumpled and wrinkled from the night, but they kick the duvet to the floor and the rest of it doesn't matter.

JC loves the first hard burn of a cock pushing inside him, the almost impossible stretch, the promise of what's yet to come. It's not often that it happens this deliberately, this indulgently, with Nick's fingers biting hard into his hips, forcing him to move slowly, and his eyes never leaving JC's face.

It's dim and cool in the bedroom, but Nick's eyes are clear and blue and unshadowed, and he's warm and alive against JC. Suddenly, fiercely, JC wishes he could make this last forever. Slowly, slowly, he shifts and moves on Nick, moaning as they catch the perfect angle. Nick smiles and whispers to him, his voice so low JC can't hear him, but his meaning so clear, JC can't mistake it.

JC smiles back, keeping the same slow slow pace, tracing Nick's mouth with one thumb, until Nick finally moves his hands to pinch and twist at JC’s nipples. JC hisses at the sudden quick spark, far more pleasure than pain.

"Go, go," Nick pants roughly, but JC’s already moving.

Nick fists JC's dick, matching JC’s rhythm, and uses his other hand to tug at the platinum rings in his own nipples, pulling them quick and sharp, teasing himself along with JC. JC knows he worked Nick over hard the night before, knows what Nick's doing has to hurt like hell. He fucks himself harder at the sight, forces Nick deeper inside him, faster and rougher and so fucking good he can't breathe.

"Ah, fuck, yeah," Nick says, rubbing his thumb over the head of JC's cock, nasty and careless, the way JC likes it, stripping away everything but his hands and his cock and the open, easy emotion in his eyes.

***

It's not the lack of sleep that gets JC--he can go for days on nothing more than the occasional catnap--but something knocks him flat, almost before Nick finishes cleaning them up. Every time he swims up to semi-consciousness, Nick has a hand on him somewhere. Tangled in his hair, curved around his hip, splayed heavy and warm across his belly... JC takes the comfort back into sleep with him until the worst of the sharp edges in his brain are smoothed down.

He stretches and rolls over, pulling arms and legs back in from where he’s sprawled out, and Nick blinks at him, still half-asleep himself. "Fuck, man," Nick yawns. "You're getting as bad as Jess with the dead crashing after sex."

On cue, Nick's cell rings, Brian and Carl and Dennis harmonizing on _Sloop John B_, and Nick gropes over the side of the bed to find it. JC's fairly certain he's not ready to hear this particular morning-after conversation between Jesse and Nick, but Nick still has a hand on his back.

"What the fuck do you think," Nick's saying as he settles himself against the pillows. "Of course you woke us up, man. Nobody here's got anything good to say about morning. That's your special problem, y'know?"

He holds the phone away from his mouth and says, "Jess wants to know if we're eating with them tonight; he swears he won't let Lance near the grill."

JC knows why Jesse's calling, and it doesn't have anything to do with food. He should leave and let Nick talk to him privately, but Nick's running a thumb over the bruises his hand left on JC's hip, and it would take a hell of a lot more than Jesse in a snit to make JC move away from that.

He forces himself to be casual. "I don't have anything going on. You?"

"Other than seeing if I can fuck you in the shower without killing either one of us?" Nick's eyes are saying he knows why Jesse called, too.

"Yeah." JC smiles. "Other than that."

"We're clear," Nick says into the phone without taking his eyes off JC. "I don't know when we’ll get there, but if we bring takeout, it won't matter, and I can fuck _you_ in the shower instead of sitting around watching you clean up after Lance."

JC can hear Jesse's snort even from the other side of the bed, but then Nick closes the phone and says, "Shower?" and the rest of the day stretches out endlessly in front of them.


End file.
